


~ Marinette ~

by Hailey_Quinn



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: But I'll try to keep them close as possible, F/F, F/M, I haven't written anything in forever, Inconsistent chapter sizes most likely, M/M, Most likely very inconsistent updates, No Beta, Slow Burn for sure though, Smut, This tag section is a mess, i certainly don't, possibly, sorry about that, we die like robins, who knows where this will go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25956154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hailey_Quinn/pseuds/Hailey_Quinn
Summary: In an old house in ParisThat is covered in vinesLive fifteen loud teenagersDefinitely not in two straight lines
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Johnathan Kent, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Chloé Bourgeois/Kagami Tsurugi, Ivan Bruel/Mylène Haprèle, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne
Comments: 25
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

At less than a year old, Marinette Dupain-Cheng lost her family.

Her Maman and Papa were caught in a blaze in their small but popular bakery. Small as she was, Marinette was found miraculously unharmed by a police officer in the white bassinet that she had been napping in under a few of the fallen beams of the bakery's structure.

And in less than twenty four hours, little baby Marinette Dupain-Cheng became just Marinette. The Dupain-Cheng's were missed terribly by their regular customers and neighbours.

But they were especially missed by their little girl who had no memories of who they were, or any sense of what a 'normal' family was. She had no photos of her parents to hold on to, nothing other than the little girl herself and her bassinet were able to be recovered. The only reason the officers were able to tell the orphanage her name was because a neighbour, an older gentleman in a Hawaiian patterned shirt, was able to tell them her name. But he was mysteriously gone before they could ask anymore questions.

* * *

At five years old, little Marinette was as happy as a five year old could be when she was gifted a small sketchbook and a packet of pencils by Miss Bustier for her birthday. It was a small gift, but living in an old manor come boarding school all year round she was lucky to receive anything really. Most of the other students went home at least once during the year, whether it was for holidays or other reasons. But Marinette had nowhere to go. She was an orphan that was orphaned by the orphanage who had taken her in as a baby as soon as she was old enough to attend school. 

Marinette spent hours on her small bed drawing that day. 

It was that gift, that day she spent drawing, which unlocked her love for creating. A hobby and talent that would transform into a love for all things fashion as she got older. 

* * *

At nine, Marinette met her best friend. He was new to the house, to the school. Adrien Agreste was his name. He was the only son of one Gabriel Agreste, famed fashion designer, and one of Marinette's favourite designers. His mother, Emilie Agreste, had fallen into a coma and never awoke, leaving Gabriel to steadily go mad in grief until Adrien was suddenly packed up and shipped to the boarding school. 

Marinette spent a week trying to get the shy little blonde with his hair in his eyes to open up. He was awfully quiet, as if he would get in trouble for the slightest noise he made. She thought that perhaps he _had_ been in trouble for making a sound before he came to the old manor. 

By his third week there, he was running about making as much noise as the other children. Marinette thought that perhaps he could compete with Alix and Kim on the spectrum of being loud. Especially when he laughed at his own horrible puns. She loved it. 

* * *

At thirteen, Adrien and Marinette watched as men carried large boxes and pieces of fancy furniture into the manor next door from their perches in the large tree. A man that had greying hair stood watch on the stairs that led to the front door, directing the movers as to where things needed to go. 

Marinette giggled softly as she watched three boys of varying ages race about as they tried to catch each other in a rowdy game of tag. The fourth, and youngest, stood by the older man on the stairs, shaking his head at the other three. 

It wasn't long before the man called the boys inside and the movers left the manor. Marinette and Adrien were called inside for their afternoon lessons before they could even think of going over the brick wall that separated the two properties and trying to find out who the new neighbours were. 

It didn't stop the two children from gossiping and coming up with theories as to who the new neighbours were though. 

That night, all the children were sitting at the dinner table trying to decide who the neighbours were. Who would be rich enough to buy a manor that large? Why would they move in next to a known boarding school? That was why it had been empty for so long after all. No one, not even people with children, had wanted to move in next to a house full of random children.

* * *

A week after the strange family had moved in next door, Miss Bustier announced that they had been invited over to meet the neighbours. Lunch would be included, and she expected the children to wear a nice, _clean Alix_ , outfit. To make good impressions. 

When they arrived, Miss Bustier knocked on the door. The older man that Marinette and Adrien had seen the day they moved in opened the door. He introduced himself as Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family's butler. But Mr. Pennyworth was not who Marinette was paying attention to. She was too preoccupied with a pair of jade coloured eyes that were staring right back at her from the face of the youngest boy. 

"Hello, I'm Marinette." She introduced herself softly to the boy as the rest of her class wandered off to the dining room with their other hosts, trying her best to curtsey. Did she need to curtsey? She didn't know. That's what girls in the story books she read did though when they met a prince. Surely this family was royalty? They had to be, to live in a place as beautiful as the manor. 

The boy watched her stoically, only raising an eyebrow when she stood back up. "Damian. Wayne." He replied before turning to head to the dining room as well.   
  
  
"That went well..." Marinette muttered to herself, her face turning red as she followed him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Damian al Ghul was born into the League of Assassins.

His mother, Tahlia al Ghul, had somehow managed to coerce the one and only Bruce Wayne into sleeping with her. Or perhaps she had been more vindictive about the taking of what she needed to have a child. Damian never really knew how he came to exist. _And he did not want to know thank you very much._

He spent his formative years learning how to be a great assassin. The best assassin. For he could not disappoint his mother or grandfather. He could not disappoint Ra's al Ghul. 

Ra's was a dark shadow, always looming in the corners of the League's quarters, but never quite seen. He was felt. A presence. A presence that forced little Damian to try his best. He learnt quite young that if he was injured, he was not to cry. He was not to seek the comfort of his mother. His mother was not a mother. She was just another instructor. Another person he had to best. Little Damian did not know what a hug was, he did not know what he was missing. He knew different things. He knew where to slice for the quickest bleed out. He knew what part of a knife was the deadliest. 

* * *

At seven years old, Damian al Ghul made his first kill. His mother and grandfather gave him little to no praise upon his return for surviving, throwing him right back into his training. It had been a close call. Too close. He still was not good enough. He wasn't the best. Therefore he was a disgrace. A disgrace to the Demon and the al Ghul lineage. He was to train harder, longer. The small boy was thrown against opponents four or five times his size. He was a small boy, often assumed as younger than he was. It was something he knew how to use against an enemy. He learnt many languages, and proved to be an apt student when it came to regular schooling subjects. 

Damian spent his days training. Studying. Aiming to be the best. 

He made his second not many months after the first. He was better that time. And every time after that. 

* * *

At eleven, Damian had been with his father for a year. A long, tedious, year. He had arrived on his father's doorstep at Wayne Manor in Gotham City on his tenth birthday. To say that Bruce and a one Alfred Pennyworth were shocked... would be the understatement of the century. After trying to kill his father's youngest adopted son, and many a training to 'correct' his past learnings, things were still tense. Damian was annoyed at the seeming stupidity of his older brothers. The three of them were utter oafs in his opinion. How anything was ever done was beyond his understanding. 

Damian was shipped away to the Teen Titans headquarters for the summer. His father hoped that learning to work with other teenagers would reduce his son's violent streak. It didn't work. Or so they thought. But the first mission back, Robin was less violent towards the bad guys than he had been before the summer away. 

Damian was trying. That is what surprised his new family the most. The small boy was trying to be better. It was strange. Damian was always strange. It had his brothers on high alert, lest he try to kill one of them again. They took turns sleeping for a week and a half. 

* * *

At fifteen, his father decided they were to move to Paris. France. Who knew why. Damian certainly didn't. He complained for weeks as the family packed their belongings into boxes and suitcases. He complained to Pennyworth as he watched the older butler polish and pack away the finer items that they would be taking to decorate the new manor with. At least Damian assumed it would be a manor. Why wouldn't it be a manor, his father was a billionaire after all. Anything smaller than a manor was useless, especially with a family as large as theirs. He refused to share a bedroom with any of his idiotic brothers. 

He stood stoically in the front yard of their new Parisian home, watching said idiots cause a ruckus as they chased each other about childishly. He tsked as Drake tackled Todd to the ground, cheering happily as Grayson counted to five. Idiots. The lot of them. 

Damian followed Pennyworth inside once the movers had left, he made his way upstairs to his new bedroom to inspect his belongings. It would not do to have any of his art supplies to be broken. He didn't know where a reputable art store was to replace anything just yet. 

Dinner was as loud as ever in the Wayne home. Louder perhaps, as the brothers tried to convince their father that _no he didn't need to visit the orphans next door_. 

Bruce visited the orphans next door anyway. Who were his sons to tell him what he could and could not do? Damian was glad that Drake had had the foresight to burn the adoption papers back in Gotham, and that Bruce had not yet managed to get his hands on any France adoption papers. But time would tell. The boys could only pray that there wasn't any dark haired, bright eyed children next door. 

* * *

One week later, Damian and the rest of his family found themselves setting up for a lunch based party. Pennyworth had whipped up many platters of finger foods as entrees, setting them along a table against the wall. The main course was still cooking, in its final stages, to be served warm for their guests. Both vegan and non vegan options, Damian was thankful. 

The doorbell rang, and they all followed Pennyworth to the door. The older boys were curious about the children from the boarding school next door. Damian didn't care. He just wanted them to leave already. Pennyworth allowed them inside, introducing the men of the house to their guests. He was bored. He was glancing over each of the students, assessing each for any threats, when his eyes fell on a petite dark haired girl with eyes so bright they could probably give Grayson's optimism a run for its money. He hated it. 

The girl in question walked up to Damian as the others dispersed, causing him to frown deeper in confusion. She should be running the other way. "Hello, I'm Marinette." The young girl introduced herself, giving him a small curtsey. It made him want to snort. What a childish thing to do when introducing ones self. Unless it was towards actual royalty of course. 

"Damian. Wayne." He returned, ever the stoic teen he was, before turning to follow the others. He could just barely hear her muttering to herself as he walked away. Perhaps she was crazy? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers!   
> So sorry to leave you all hanging after the last chapter. I lost my damned glasses, & I can't use my laptop these days without them.   
> Note to self: Stop. Getting. Old. 
> 
> Ha Right. 
> 
> (A small side note, because I don't think I've mentioned this & I'll probably forget in the future; Jason didn't die. Damian didn't die. Before coming to Paris at least ;) who knows what will happen in the future. So there's no broody mcBrooding from one JayBird due to the Lazarus Pits.)   
> Also there IS a small age gap between Marinette & Damien. It's only two years, roughly with where birthdays fall & such, but yeah they aren't the exact same age so there's that that will come into play with their dynamics throughout this story. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're all enjoying this story. I have exactly 0 idea as to where this is going, the plot bunny just kind of curled up into my lap & fell asleep there with no context. 
> 
> Feel free to comment your theories for the future of these dorks, leave kudos, etc. Or don't. I don't mind :) 
> 
> See you in the next chapter!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!  
> I'm Hailey_Quinn!  
> This is my first story on here, & it's been a long time since I wrote anything creative. So please be gentle with your criticisms. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, even though it will most likely be a slow burn, & that you stick around for this adventure.


End file.
